


TADA

by rizcriz



Series: tumblr is dying time to get compiling [36]
Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-12
Updated: 2018-12-12
Packaged: 2019-09-16 15:43:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16956825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rizcriz/pseuds/rizcriz
Summary: In which, they're about to graduate from Brakebills.





	TADA

The cottage isn’t where it’s suppose to be. Which isn’t weird, exactly. But usually, Eliot can just, kind of … sense where it’s at. Find his way to it. But it’s gone. The front and back lawns are still here, with the fire pit and the grill and the flowers and walkways. Almost like the cottage is still here, just invisible.

But it’s not, because Eliot’s walking through the big gaping space at the center of it all and he hasn’t walked into any invisible walls yet.

He’s not going to admit it, but he’s getting frustrated. This is his last day here. All of their last days. They’ll get alum keys, but it won’t be the same. They won’t be apart of the cottage anymore. He won’t be a part of the cottage anymore.

And, yeah, he’ll be the first to admit that some awful things have happened in the cottage, but he still has some real memories. Some good memories.

He doesn’t have a lot of places he can say that about.

And god damn it, he’d have really liked to steal the fucking TADA sign.

“Eliot,” Quentin says.

Eliot turns around, tilting his head. He hadn’t even heard him approach. “You’re looking for the cottage, too?”

Quentin shakes his head, little grin dancing on his lips. “No. I’m looking for you.”

“Whats wrong?”

“Nothing.” He looks offended that that’s where Eliot’s mind goes, but then he just wraps his arms around his own waist. “I want to show you something.”

“Q …”

“Trust me. You’ll–you’ll like it.”

“Like I like every other surprise?”

Quentin shakes his head again. “Just come with me.”

Eliot quirks a brow. “Oh, that is a surprise I–”

“Later,” Quentin rolls his eyes, and motions over his shoulder with his chin. “Follow me. I promise it’s worth it.”

“And if it’s not?”

“I’ll do whatever you want.”

“You already do whatever I want.”

He’s quiet for a beat. Then, “I’ll do whatever Margo wants.”

Which, steep price, Coldwater.

“Alright,” Eliot says, making his way across the lawn towards him. “But I’ll make sure it’s something awful and horrendouss and–”

“Eliot.”

There’s something in his voice that catches Eliot off guard, so he does as he’s asked, for once, without complaint. Quentin smiles and holds out his hand, and Eliot takes it without a moments thought.

And then Quentin’s pulling him through a portal precariously placed behind a tree.

**

They come through the broom closet of the Physical Kids cottage. It smells of dust and sex, and Eliot crashes through the door like a bat out of hell. Quentin stands behind him, as he makes his way down the hall and into the dining room, where the TADA sign is fixed, and glares down at him like a beautiful memento of pain and happiness all mixed together as one.

He whips back around to face Quentin, mouth opening and closing. “How–”

“I’m the one who moved it.”

“You what.”

Quentin shrugs a shoulder sheepishly. “I knew you’d want to have a moment alone with it, and current Brakebills students knowing where it is would have made that–”

Eliot shakes his head, a breathy grin forcing it’s way out as he rushes forward and cups both hands over Quentin’s jaw and yanks him into a bruising kiss. Quentin’s probably struggling on his tiptoes, Eliot can feel gravity trying to pull them apart, but he lets go of Quentin’s jaw and waves his hand until Quentin’s floating just far enough off the ground for it to not be as much of a struggle. His fingers find their way to Quentin’s scalp, raking through soft, silky hair.

He pulls away when he he can’t breathe, and even then Quentin doesn’t look ready to separate. He scratches at Eliot’s scalp, pouting.

Eliot grins down at him. “Do I want to know how you managed it?”

Quentin shakes his head, wrinkling his nose. “No–definitely. Absolutely not. You might murder me.” His hands move down to cup the back of Eliot’s neck, thumbs rubbing at the base of his skull.

“How long will it stay here? Wait,” He twists his neck without letting go of Quentin, to look out the window. “Where exactly is here?”

Shrugging, Quentin pulls him back in, “Somewhere upstate. Off Brakebills campus, but nowhere anyones going to find us.” The corners of his lips twitch upwards. “It won’t go anywhere until midnight. When we’re officially no longer Brakebills students.”

“So what you’re saying,” Eliot breathes, leaning in until his nose brushes up against Quentin’s. “Is we’ve got plenty of time to christen this place in every nook and cranny imaginable.”

Quentin nods, slowly, his breath hitching. “There’s that. But I also, uhm. Thought it might be nice–” He breaks off.

“What?”

“For being our favorite place, we never really had a day where we were fully at peace here, you know? I thought we could put on some pajamas, watch a movie. Pretend like we’re here for the first time. Like we haven’t spent the past few years running, and hiding, and–and, oh–you hate it. We can totaly just do the sex thing–”

“Q.” Eliot waves his hand until they’re both standing on the hardwood floors again, and leans over him, breathing him in. “If you’re asking if I’d mind pretending the weight of the world isn’t on our shoulders for once, the answers no.” He tilts his chin, reaching up to twirl a finger through Quentin’s hair. “But for a plan you put a lot of effort into, I don’t see any big, ugly comfortable pajamas to lounge around in.”

Quentin motions towards the living room. “They’re on the couch.”

“Are they?”

“They are.” He leans up on his toes and presses a kiss to Eliot’s cheekbone. “And in your room, there are supplies for what you have in mind, too. We’ve got ten hours,” He says, pulling away, “Plenty of time to do all the things in this house we’ve never done.”

“Without any distractions.”

He nods, “Exactly.”

“No monsters.”

“Uh-huh.”

“No noisy first years killing the mood–”

“That was one time!” He pouts, “And it wasn’t my fault, Margo roofied me!”

Eliot rolls his eyes. “Q, it’s always your fault when Margo roofies you.”

“ … Okay, fair. But–”

“Go get in your ugly flannel pajamas, Q.”

He opens his mouth like he wants to argue, but then he just grins and darts out of the room.

Eliot grins after him, and turns to look at the TADA sign again.

Oh yeah, he thinks.

The one place he can remember on fondly.

(Especially when he figures out how to get the damn sign off the wall).

*

It should be a surprise, when the cottage returns just after midnight, to a lawn full of confused Brakebills students, that it comes back with one less TADA sign, and eight names freshly carved into the bookshelf in the dining room.

What? It’s not like Eliot’s going to let people forget about him.


End file.
